By degrees her reputation as a nurse spread upwards, and
many sought her good offices who could well afford to pay for
them. Whatever remuneration was offered to her, she took it
simply and without comment; for she felt that it was not hers to
refuse; that it was, in fact, owing to the Bensons for her and
her child's subsistence. She went wherever her services were
first called for. If the poor bricklayer, who broke both his legs
in a fall from the scaffolding, sent for her when she was
disengaged, she went and remained with him until he could spare
her, let who would be the next claimant. From the happy and
prosperous in all but health she would occasionally beg off; when
some one less happy and more friendless wished for her; and
sometimes she would ask for a little money from Mr. Benson to
give to such in their time of need. But it was astonishing how
much she was able to do without money.
Her ways were very quiet; she never spoke much. Any one who has
been oppressed with the weight of a vital secret for years, and
much more any one the character of whose life has been stamped by
one event, and that producing sorrow and shame, is naturally
reserved. And yet Ruth's silence was not like reserve; it was too
gentle and tender for that. It had more the effect of a hush of
all loud or disturbing emotions, and out of the deep calm the
words that came forth had a beautiful power. She did not talk
much about religion; but those who noticed her knew that it was
the unseen banner which she was following.
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